The Life of Dean Winchester
by phirephox666
Summary: or The Many Things Dean Would Never Tell Anyone . Snapshots of different points in Dean's life that were important.


**Title:** The Life of Dean Winchester (or The Many Things Dean Never Told Anybody)

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Pairing: **None

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings:** Light Swearing.

**Summary: **Snapshots of Dean's life and the stuff Dean would never tell anybody

**Disclaimer:** Sadly not mine.

**Word Count: **

**Excerpt: **"Take care of your brother, Dean. The phrase echoes in his head. A mantra repeated over and over by his mother and his father. And by himself. Sammy comes first. So Dean carefully lays salt-lines and lays the shotgun by his side of the bed."

**A/N:** Several snapshots of Dean's life at different ages. No pairings. Hope you like. Review when done please.

The Life of Dean Winchester

or

The Many Things Dean Never Told Anybody

He's four and he's scared. Daddy just gave him Sammy and told him to get out of the house. Sam's wailing and Dean's doing his best to calm his little brother down. He's singing a lullaby his mother taught him, but it comes out shaky and not quite right and all he can do is wonder where his daddy and mommy are. Why aren't they coming out. Why don't they help him. And the fire is hot and has consumed the whole house by now and he is so, so afraid.

Then daddy is hugging them tight and Sammy stops crying and for a moment Dean relaxes into his father. But daddy's grip is a little to tight and he's shaking and when Dean looks up at his face it's stainedc with soot and ash but the tear tracks are clearly visible and his eyes are wet with grief. Dean's fairly intuitive for a four year old and he knows, deep in his gut, that mommy's not ever coming out of the house. Dean buries his head in daddy's neck and holds Sammy tight and cries.

He's eight and he's lonely. Dad's out. Again. And though Dean knows that dad's a hero because he hunts monsters and saves people, it doesn't make it any less frightening to be alone in their little apartment with Sammy. Sammy's sleeping which makes the appartment seem that much more empty and Dean feels a sharp pang of loneliness. He wishes mom were still alive. He wishes dad would come back and just spend time with him again. Help him teach Sammy how to play baseball like he did with Dean when Dean was four. He wishes his father would be there at night to make the nightmares of fire and dark things under his bed go away.

Tears prick at his eyes and he shuts them willing the tears away. Willing himself to be strong for like dad taught him. Take care of your brother, Dean. The phrase echoes in his head. A mantra repeated over and over by his mother and his father. And by himself. Sammy comes first. So Dean carefully lays salt-lines and lays the shotgun by his side of the bed. Then he climbs into his shared bed with Sam and buries his nose in Sam's soft brown tresses. Snuggles agianst his baby brother and lets himself sink into oblivion.

He's ten and he's patient. He carefully steadies his six year old brother's had on the gun.

"Fire." he tells his brother and Sam pulls the trigger. Dean braces the small body against the recoil which, while not as strong as with a, say, shotgun, would still knock a six year old over without support. Somethin dad had neglected to mention Dean's first time.

"How'd I do, Dean?" Sammy asks, clearly excited. Dean walks over to the target and checks the bullets Sammy fired (there are six) which start in the wall and go in from there. None of them hit anywhere near the center, but for a first time its not bad. Dean congratulates his baby brother and Sam pouts and whines until Dean get's icecream out of the freezer. Sam sitts and the old wooden table babbling madly about the friends he's made in first grade.

"And then they sid she was nearly as good as a boy because she does boy things like make mud pies and get dirty withus and play cops and robbers and stuff _and then _she kicked him in the shin and told him she was going to make him eat mud _and then _he told her that he'd put mud in her pigtails _and she said _that if he even touched her hair she'd tell her mommy and her mommy'd come down and shove his head in _the toilet _like some of the mean big-kids. Would our mommy have shoved someone's head in a toilet if they'd gotten mud in my hair?"

Dean, who had been lost in the comfort of Sam's long, pointless monologue was more than a little caught of guard by the question.

"Of course she would have," He tells the waiting face, "And she would have told that person's mom too and that kid's mom would have washed their hair with dirt for _a week_!" Sammy scrunches his nose and giggles happily as Dean sets a bowl of Sam's favorite icecream in front of him.

"Eat your icecream slowly, or I'll take it away and eat it myself." Dean threatens sitting down with his own bowl. He pushes the thoughts of mom and The Fire that Sam has unwittingly brought to the forfront of his mind, out of his head. He concentrates on sammy's bight smile and th icecreamy grin that Sam shoots at him as he continues to explain why his teacher is the best teacher in the whole wide world.

He's twelve and he's annoyed. His teacher (who's an idiot!) saw the bruise on his arm and reported it. Which is how he ended up in the principals office getting questioned. The principle started off with:

"How'd you get that bruise, Dean?" At which Dean looked at the bruise he'd gotten after being slammed into a slide while dodging something that actually had tenticles (really what the Hell?).

"I have an eight year old brother sir." He says as if that explains it all.

"Oh? And what's his name?" Dean's fairly sure there are only two Winchesters in this school, so either the principal is dumber than he looks or he's trying to trap dean into saying something.

"His name's Sam. Sam Winchester. He's in Mrs. Hinz'z 3rd grade class." The principal looks satisfied. Dean rolls his eyes as discretley as a twelve year old knows how.

"Of course," The principal says generously, "Now how'd you get that bruise. It looks painful." Dean pokes at it thoughtfully. He's had worse honestly, although it probably won't pay if he tells this guy that. He's fully aware the principal is watching him closely. The bruise doesn't hurt.

"Not really, sir. It's mostly just colorful. Me and Sammy were messing around on a slide. He almost fell off and I banged my arm on the side of it catching him." He adds a grian of truth to help the lie feel more believable, "Figured the bruise was worth kepping Sammy saffe." To him this makes sense though the principal seems confused.

"Now young man, your teacher say that it looks as if someones bee throwing you around. Is that true?" Dean's baffled and startled, the annoyed.

"Look here, my father has never hit me or pushed me or anything else! And sammy and me wrestle all the time but it's never anything serious!" The principal looks triumphant.

"What about your mother?" He asks like he expects Dean to confess that his mother's been beating him half to death. And boy is this guy an idiot.

"My mother is dead," Dean tells the guy bluntly, "She's been dead since before I was five. I doubt her ghost has come back to hit me."

The principal looks striken and quickly tries to backpeddal murmuring apologies. Dean doesn't feel sorry for the man.

"I'm going home." He tells the man, who doesn't even bother to object as dean stlaks out of the office. He walks to the building where Sam's class thinking darkly about the idiots who assumed about his bruise. 'To assume makes an ass out of you and me.' He quotes in his mind, settling down on the steps to the building. He'll just take a little nap until Sammy gets out.

He's sixteen and he's tired. Tired of school where idiots try and fight him to prove something because of his reputation as a hard guy, and the fact he's never lost a fight. Where he has a girl who's pretty but is nothing but a girl who he's fucking and where he has 'friends' who barely know him and who hardly care if he's there one day and gone the next. Where teachers look at him like he's a 'bad kid' because he doesn't take shit from anyone and his father never shows up for p/t conferences but dean's always there for Sam's.

He's tired of listening to the constant bickering that Dad and Sam indulge in. Tired of the constant tention, so thick you could cut through it with a knife, whenever the two of them are in a room togither for more than two minutes. Whenever dad's home, which is rare, Sam's yelling at him for something. And it seems like dad is all to ready to yell back. Dean's tire of listening to them and hearing the words neither of them are saying. Dad's are; "I'm scared for you, Sammy." and "I love you, but I don't understand." and Sam's are; "I want to be normal." and "I want you to love me, but I don't understand." Dean's tired of listening to them and playing pecemaker and he wishes, for all he hates 'chick-flick' moments, that they would just say what they mean for once. He loves them both but he's tired. He's tired of this constant revenge-fueled hunt. It''s been forever since they've all sat down like a family and ate dinner together. If they're not out hunting together it's grab-and-go dinners for dad. He's tired of the soul deep lonliness when dad's out on a hunt and Sam's out with the friends he's made or the pretty blonde girl with green eyes who'd taken a liking to him when they moved in three months ago. Cathy, he thought he name was. He's tired of looking at his homework and thinking about the fact that he'll never go to college or be an E.M.T. or a fireman or any of those things that he occasionally (though he denies it) dreams of being. Not because he's not smart enough, he tests high, but because Sammy will still be here (he needs protecting), and Dad needs help (although he'll never admit it), and because dad and Sam are all he has.

He's so, so tired of being too paranoid to go to sleep because he's injured (by something dark and gooey that was sort of like death-tar or something that had banged him up pretty good) and unsure if he'd be able to defend himself. But he's tired, exhusted from the fight with the death-tar, and from staying up all night before finishing the research, and he's hungry and sore (although three iburofen helped dull that). He's fairly sure he won't be going to school the next day. He's falling asleep in his chair and only half lucid when he hears an engine idling ouside and a door open, pause, slam shut. The key turns in the lock and the front door opens then shuts and a lock clicks into place. Dean looks up blearily at his brother. He'stoo tired for anything but a nod of recognition. He barely registers the worry on Sam's face.

"Dean? You okay?"

'Not really' Is what Dean thinks, "Just tired, Sammy." Is what he says.

"Up you get." Sam hoist him up and dean loses track of things. Somehow he's in bed, his shoes off, under the covers. He can't bring himself to worry since it's blissfully comfotable and Sam has snuggled up next to him wrappin long arms around his middle and it's warm and it's home and he's safe and warm and loved. Blackness slips in and takes over and he slips into oblivion.

He's eighteen and he's happy. Dad showed up at his graduation and he's snapping photos like a normal father. Sammy's sitting right beside him beaming widley and proudly. After the ceremony he heads towards his family. He's stopped by several 'friends' and aquaintances and teachers who all ofer their congatulations. He grins his qicksilver grin at them and weaves toward where his dad is talking slightly bemusedly to a classmates mother.

He's stopped by the only person he truely calls a friend in this town, maybe ever. James, who is about ten million times geekier than Dean, but worked so hard to get Dean to open up, even a little. James, who never complained about the walls Dean put up, the secrets he kept or asked too many never pushed too far. James hands him an envelope which he tucks away. Without a word He pulls Dean into a hug, and Dean after a moments hesitation hugs him back.

"Congratulations." James whispers and there are a million things in that; 'Thank you.' and 'Goodbye.' and 'I'll miss you.' Dean give a fond grin.

"Thank you." He says back and he hopes James hears the implied; 'Goodbye.' and 'I'll miss you, too' and 'I won't forget what you've done for me.'

James grins back and pats him on the shoulder once and dissapears into the crowd. Dean smiles, bittersweat, and turns back to finding his family. They aren't far, talking to the mother of one of his classmates. The boy, Corwin he thinks, is tugging at his mothers arm but she brushes him off. Dean weaves through the crowd and comes to a stop not far from Sam.

"Hey, I'm ready." His arrival allows enough distraction for Corwin to mutter something into his mothers ear (It sounds suspiciously like,"Where'd Amber go?"). She looks around worridley and then hurriedly excues herself, dashing off in one direction looking slightly frantic. Dad looks rathe bemused but Sammy just looks up at him and grins. They go out to dinner and both Sam and dad are on good behavior, which Dean is extremely grateful for. It's not until after both of them go to bed that he opens the evelope. Inside are three smaller envelopes and in each one is a letter of acceptance to a college. He smiles, he won't be going of course, to any of them, but it's nice to look at them and see that he could have got in. That he had got in. He writes the name of each college on a piece of paper before burnig the letters and evelopes. The paper get slid between the pages of a worn copy of 'The Hobbit' and he slides into bed next to the warm body of his brother and falls asllep comfortable and content.

He's tweenty-two and he's heart-broken. Sammy's gone, taken off for Stanford. For a normal life, for friends, for freedom. Sam's barely graduated and already he's left.

'It's not fair.' Is what Dean thinks as he locks himself into their shared room in the piece of crap apartment they currently have. 'I stayed for you, why didn't you stay for me?'

But really he's not suprised because you'd have had to have been blind not to see that Sam was ready to get out of the Hunter's life as fast as fucking possible. And really Dean is proud because,well, a full ride to Stanford? What big brother wouldn't be proud?

Dean was angry too, though. Not just at Sam, but at dad too. When Sam had told him (and he'd done it in the most comfrontational way possible) dad had freaked out. So Sam had started yelling and dad had yelled right back and it had all escalated into something terrible. They'd screamed accusations at eachother and yelled terrible things and beneath it all were those same old words that neither of them know how to say: 'I'm scared for you Sammy.' and 'Why don't you get it, dad?' Dean just wanted to shake them both until some sense came back. Then dad said leave and don't come back and Sam left and Dean was left with a broken heart and an angry dad. Dad and Sammy are all he has and Sam had just left easy as pie, and willingly, andit was so likely that he would never look back.

For the first time in near eighteen years, Dean allowed himself to cry.

He's twenty-six and he's worried. Dad's been on a hunting trip and seems to be missing and all he's got is a weird message on his phone and his last known location. He's worried but it's like feeling everything through a screen because he's been cold for the last few years. Numb to everything and cold as ice to everyone. He's heading to Sammy's because he could use help on this one and he should check anyway just in case something is going after their family. Sam's by far the easiest one to track down. He doesn't want to lose the only thing that matters to him: his family. It's easy getting into Sam's appartment but he makes a little to much noise and Sam comes to investigate. Dean takes him down easily.

"Getting sloppy, Sammy." He says letting a smirk filter into his voice. Sam flips him over and pins him body pressed down on Dean and for the first time in four years Dean feels warm. He could easily flip Sammy off but he doesn't.

"What are you doing here, Dean?" Sam asks after they've got up.

"Looking for a beer?" Dean responds flippiantly. Mostly just to piss Sam off.

"_What_ are you _doing_ here, Dean?" Sam obviously doesn't enjoy his flippisnt remark. Dean shrugs.

"I had to talk to you."

"The phone?" Sam says poointedly. Dean goes serious for a moment.

"If I'd called would u=you have picked up?" Sam blinks, clearly unsure of the serious question. Jess walks in and Dean switches his 'hey pretty lady' grin. His casual innuendos do nothing to endear here to him, especially since she already seems to have a grudge agianst him. He could care less about her, really. When Dean finally explains that dad is missing all Sam offers is a flipiant response which angers Dean a little.

"Dad's on a _hunting _trip and he hasn't come back." He tells Sammy and watches Sam freeze as he puts the pieces together.

Later when Dean and Sam are on the road Dean relizes that the cold hads subsided a bit. He's sure that when Sam goes back to his perfect life then the cod will creep back in, freezing him solid, but for now the warmth of lfe that Sam has always seemed to radiate has drained some of the cold out of him. And really, he thinks he's okay with that.

The End


End file.
